Matchmaker
by Heath Wingwhit
Summary: Hawke tries to reconnect with Aveline after refusing to help set her up with Donnic.  m!Hawke x Aveline


A/N: I wasn't going to post this initially. Who actually cares about Hawke x Aveline? BESIDES ME? I don't know why I'm so into these two but I am. This is for The Allusive Man! Who, by the way, proofed it. Lucky you, readers!

* * *

><p>Hawke knows he's been a complete shit but it doesn't change how in love he is with Aveline Vallen. He isn't sure which one of them is being the bigger tit—he for not bending over backwards to set her up with the esteemed Donnic or she for refusing to talk to him since the whole incident went sour. If she'd wanted matchmaking she should have gone to Isabela or maybe Varric. Hawke is not interested, nor will he ever be, in setting her up with another man. He did his part by helping her as much as he did. He wouldn't help her close the deal.<p>

It's possible he's a selfish prick like Carver has always said. He wishes he wasn't so bothered about the ordeal. There are more important matters in Kirkwall than playing matchmaker. Aveline of all people should understand that. No doubt she'd been lonely since Wesley passed—and the woman is too damned stubborn to take another lover. The realization of how difficult it must have been for her to ask for Hawke's help sinks in. "Shit." He runs a hand through his hair and gets to his feet.

It's a snowy day in Kirkwall and he grabs the hooded cloak he keeps beside the door (when running out into the night to slay thieves and creatures alike with magic is necessary) and heads out of the Hawke estate. The sun is beginning to sink, coloring the snow and sky an ember color. As he makes his way to the Viscount's Keep he thinks that he's just as stupid and stubborn as Aveline is. There are plenty of men and women available to him. He's had his romps throughout the years but nothing serious. His heart has always been stupidly set on her. Why is she so bloody daft? Why is he?

His fingertips are numb by the time he arrives at the Keep. He shakes the snow from his shoulders and pulls the cloak back, ignoring the looks from the overly bored, overly waiting and terribly interested nobles who seek always to speak with the useless Viscount Dumar. He takes the steps up quickly, moving automatically to the right and then down the steps to the captain's office. He sees Donnic, standing in the barrack's hall with that city-guard woman whose name Hawke can never quite remember, glance awkwardly at him. Hawke ignores him and walks into Aveline's office. She's sitting, looking at a stack of paperwork. She greets him with a cold flick of the eyes and a clipped greeting of "Hawke."

Hawke crashes into the seat in front of her. He waits for her to say something but she doesn't. "You're going to have to talk to me eventually," he says. "Come now, it'll be much less awkward now than at some other point when you need my help and your city-guards won't do."

"You know how I feel about those kinds of comments about the city-guard. They're fine men and women. Upstanding citizens," she adds. "Don't mistake my unwillingness to risk their lives as a lack of their worth."

Hawke suspects she's making a point and a not so veiled criticism at him. "Are you finished?"

"I'm not sure yet."

There's no mistaking the sharpness of her tone. Hawke is unsure of how to proceed. Truth be told they've always been on awkward footing. He makes too many jokes for her tastes and she's too uptight for his. Despite that, he can't change how he feels no matter how often he's wished he could.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asks when he's said nothing.

"Only you." He says. She glares at him, no doubt thinking he's made another of his 'stupid' jokes. "I know things didn't turn out the way that you wanted but that doesn't mean you're condemned to a life of loneliness. There are other options. Certainly better than Donnic. If he's too stupid to see what—"

"I won't have you insult him," she says, Hawke is near sure he sees her teeth bared. She is like a bear with cubs with the bloody city-guard, "just because he and I never—" she falters, ducking her chin a moment before lifting her head again, strong and stoic. "He's a good man. He is a very good man, Hawke." Hawke raises his hands in surrender. Better not to fight her on that one if he doesn't want to end up with a black eye. "Either way, the entire matter was inappropriate. It's best that it was stopped before I lost the confidence and respect of the guard. Imagine if he'd filed a report because of my foolishness?"

"I'd lop his head off myself," Hawke says with a small grin. "Or—blast it off, it'd be better to say. I'm not much for swinging swords." He sees her face sour. "Wait—that isn't funny, is it? I think it is," he mutters the last to himself.

"I've asked once and I'll ask again—why are you here? You make your jokes about having the Captain in your pocket but you know full well that that isn't the case nor will it ever be. I have work to do. What do you want?" She enunciates the last sentence as if he were soft in the head or deaf, maybe both.

He doesn't know how to tell her that he's already told her what he wants. "Aveline, I've been a tit, all right? You're my best friend. I just want things to be—" He can't say that he wants them to be the way that they've always been. He wants for things to be better. "You can't spend all your time cooped up in here. We all miss you at the Hanged Man and I miss you just about everywhere."

"Why do you say these things?"

"What things?" he asks defensively.

"I'm not in the mood for your games," she grouses.

"Have you ever been?"

"No," she says sternly and then smiles grimly. "And still you persist." Hawke returns her smile easily, grateful that she's still capable. The more he can make her smile, the better. It's troublesome that his penchant for humor is contrary to the soberness that she tends to admire. "I do have a lot of things to do," she nods her head at the paper, "but maybe I could stand to get away from the barracks. Things have been…" she shakes her head. "If you're at the Hanged Man later, perhaps I'll see you. That's the best I can do right now."

"It's a date," he grins, jumping to his feet and quickly exiting before she can swiftly correct him. If she's going to punish him he'd prefer it be in the bedroom.

* * *

><p>Hawke is on his fourth pint when Aveline walks into the Hanged Man. He watches the patrons sit up straighter, their voices quieting when she enters. The days of the old corrupt captain Jarvis are gone and some of the Hanged Man regulars are resentful for it. Varric mumbles something under his breath at spotting her. Hawke claps his shoulder, "You're on your own, Varric," and goes to her. "Does the guard know you're here, Aveline? You can't let them know you're human."<p>

"Stuff it, Hawke." She crinkles her nose. "I'll never understand how you can spend so much time here. It smells of ale and piss."

"We don't have to stay," he offers and hopes that his own breath isn't too heavy with ale. If it is she doesn't remark on it or seem to notice. "Better yet—why not have a drink at my place instead?" He yanks the cloak over his head. "Mother would love to see you and well—that way you don't have to worry about how sloshed you get and making good impressions."

"You, with a fine idea?" She laughs dryly. "What is Kirkwall coming to?"

He grabs her arm, grabbing hold of hard metal and wishes it was the heat of her flesh beneath his fingers. He lets go as soon as they're outside and for the remainder of the walk to Hightown they both forget the distance that has been between them for the past several weeks. Hawke is grateful for it. Maybe he didn't treat her well and maybe she has no obligation to forgive him but can he really be faulted for not wanting to deliver the woman he loves into the arms of another?

They're both shivering when they arrive at the estate. Hawke turns his eyes to the fireplace and watches the flame grow higher and hotter. He catches Aveline's appreciative look but chooses not to comment on it. His mother, nor Bodahn or Sandal are anywhere to be seen. He pulls the cloak away, throwing it onto a coat rack before moving into the library where he keeps a selection of wine bottles. Aveline follows after as he browses the bottles. Her cheeks are flushed either from the cold or the sudden warmth of the mansion.

"You can take some of that armor off," he says and hopes she doesn't think he's being wormy. He can't imagine keeping something so cumbersome on in his off hours. "I promise I'll keep any law-breakers at bay if you suddenly need to don it again."

"I suppose you make _some _sense."

Aveline begins to unbuckle her arm and wrist guards. Hawke holds on to the bottle and stares at his reflection and Aveline's hazy one as she pulls the metal pieces away and finally the chest piece. It feels as if it's been years since he's seen her arms, toned and defined, as well as the rest of her athletic body. The woman is solid muscle but there is a softness to her. He's staring.

"What?" she asks apprehensively.

"Uh." He turns back to the bottle and pulls the cork away. "It's nothing." Hawke retrieves two goblets of wine from the kitchen handing them to Aveline before arranging two plush chairs in front of the fireplace. He gestures for her to sit and pours them both a glass before sitting. Now he's nervous. He's never nervous. Not when he's fighting, not when he's with other men and women. Only she makes him feel that he isn't the emerging legend everyone makes him out to be. "I'm glad you've deigned to spend your time with a lowly apostate tonight."

"There was nothing better to do," she retorts softly before having a drink. "Actually, that's not true." They both laugh. "Maker, it feels as if I haven't left the Keep in ages. This is good wine. It must be nice to afford the things you truly want now."

"Is this another lecture on how my success is ruining Kirkwall?" Every now and then she'll begin to harp him about how he's changing fates and making her job more difficult. It isn't as if either one of them asked for their lot. "You make it sound as if it's been easy to come by."

"It isn't how it was meant to come across." She looks at him and back to the fire. "I'm sorry if I put you into a difficult situation. With… with Donnic." Hawke feels his face redden. Does she know, at long last, then? "It wasn't your place to get involved and it wasn't my place to ask. To be honest I've felt mortified about it for weeks."

"Why?"

"I like to think that I'm very capable. I am. But matters of… Aside from Wesley, not many men have ever taken interest in me. When he died I had no intention of thinking of another. It's been years."

"And…you've been lonely?" Hawke asks. He doesn't expect her to answer. She never does. "There's no shame in loneliness."

"That's easy for you to say."

"What makes you say that?"

"It's easy for you, Hawke. People find your obnoxious personality charming. You're handsome," she says this glibly as if she hasn't actually said it, "and you constantly have men and women reassuring you—sometimes too much so, for the record, of your greatness and good looks."

"Should I regale you with tales of your greatness and good looks?"

"You know what I mean," she says, brow furrowing in irritation. "You have more options. As a man no doubt these things are easier. Much as people try to cast me with your lot I'm not actually _a _man." She has another drink of wine and sighs.

"And I'm happy for it. You're fine as you are." He says with a small smile. "You've got options, Aveline. You just don't take them."

"What options have I?" She shakes her head sternly. "No. This isn't a matter fit for discussion. I swore to love and honor Wesley. In sickness or in health. I have. Now he's passed. I don't need anyone else."

"Wesley would want you to be happy."

"I know that."

"You're a beautiful woman." Hawke says. She looks at him warily, torn between looking angry and insecure. Hawke reaches out and takes her face in his hand. Her expression is befuddled. Her lips part, no doubt to question, to accuse, to stop but Hawke leans over and kisses her, five years of restraint falling away. She doesn't kiss him. Her eyes are wide with shock. He pulls away and brings his hand back to his side. "You are a beautiful woman," he says again.

"You're drunk."

"No. I'm not."

She looks at him, gathers her armor and leaves. Hawke pours another glass of wine.

* * *

><p>Aveline is half-convinced that what Hawke did was a prank. Sure, the usual twinkle in his eye was absent and he hadn't said anything particularly funny (though she supposes this is nothing new) nor had he done any idiotic dance or made some coy remark about his magical abilities.<p>

In fact, Hawke had acted absolutely contrary to himself. He'd been serious (for the most part) and seemed genuinely concerned for her. She's seen him before, making his moves on the women (and sometimes the men) of Kirkwall. He radiates confidence, a confidence that at time she has both resented and admired. Why would he do such a thing? Kiss her? Was it a joke? Was he mocking her in some way?

No one has kissed her since Wesley. She had hoped that if anyone were to kiss her (yes, as it mortifies her to think it now) it might have been Donnic. Not Hawke. Hawke is like… some bothersome relation. More often than not she wants to strangle him for some fool thing he's done.

He is handsome. And the only other man to call her beautiful.

She'd almost forgotten what it was to be kissed. Is that why she hadn't kissed him back? She's tired of the thoughts. She's thought of little else since it happened, at times asking city-guardsmen to repeat themselves in the midst of conversation. It's not like her. What is she to do about it? Give him copper marigolds so he can laugh in her face (as he had then)?

But what if he had been serious? What would it mean? Did he intentionally sabotage her when she asked for help with Donnic? And if he had, what then? Maybe it's her own fault for not finding the courage to speak to Donnic on her own.

She sets the quill down on the paper and discovers it's dry. She wonders how long she's been holding it, poised to write whatever it is that she can't remember. Maker's breath; what is she so worked up about? It's _Hawke. _He must have been joking. He must have.

And if he wasn't?

_Damn it, Aveline, you're the Captain of the Guard. Start acting like it. _She shuts down all thoughts of Hawke. She isn't going to be undone by one kiss.

* * *

><p>Carver flicks his finger hard against Hawke's forehead. Hawke jumps, startled and pulls the cloak back over his face. Where the void did Carver come from? And how long has he been sitting on the steps to the Viscount's Keep? He could have sworn the sun was only setting then. Now the stars are out bright. His brother takes a seat on the steps next to him.<p>

"You know it isn't safe to be out, Brother. There are pesky templars on the hunt for apostates." Carver says with a smirk.

"If there were templars out there worth a damn I might actually be worried." Hawke sighs and wonders if Carver has just come from visiting their mother. Despite how broken up she'd been about it in the beginning, she'd come to accept that she hadn't lost her little boy after all. He certainly comes by for enough meals. "Where's your little gang?"

"Looking for more of your kind to hunt down. You're lucky I don't tell them the worst fiend in Kirkwall is my older brother."

"Well, I'd hate to embarrass you." He says with a wry grin. Carver gives a small laugh. This has been the way between them since Carver joined the templars. Hawke can't tell anymore if this manner of joking is healthier or worse than the way they were before. He thinks it's better. He isn't sure if Carver feels the same.

"What's the matter? Sitting here like the dead without that air of self-importance you usually have about you."

"Careful, Carver, you'll sound as if you care."

"Don't be a tit," he starts rancorously. "You know bloody well how I've had to care for you throughout the years. Do you ever think there's a reason that the templars aren't beating down on your doorstep?"

"You got lost?" Hawke quips. Carver is standing when Hawke sighs. "It's Aveline."

Carver cocks an eyebrow. "What about her?" He stares at Hawke. "Oh Maker, don't tell me you still have your bloody crush on the woman. You could have anyone in Kirkwall. Why her? She's a ball shrinker. You know she'd be a lousy lay."

Hawke doesn't much care for Carver's insults but he isn't ready to argue the point nor does he think Aveline would approve no matter which way he defended her. He decides it's best to shut him down. "Not all women are as compliant as farm animals."

"Shove it up your arse," he says. "You've been hanging on to her for too long, Brother. You need to let it go. She would never—"

"I kissed her."

"—What. And you're still standing?" He looks at him quizzically. "You're both bloody daft." He considers. "I can't say I'm surprised. Never thought either of you were exceptionally bright."

Hawke rolls his eyes. As usual, his brother is useless in matters of the heart. His criticism on intelligence is brilliant. Hawke thinks to go into a speech about irony but doesn't think Carver would understand. "What about you, Brother? Which one are you slipping it to, the Knight-Commander or the Knight-Captain?" He laughs. "Or is it the other way around?"

Carver shakes his head, making his way down the steps. "To the void with you, Brother." He stops and looks back at him. "You know, you really are a pain in the arse. Do you really think someone like Aveline would go for a jester like you?"

Hawke doesn't have a clever retort. He'd rather die than admit that Carver, for once in his stupid little life, might be right.

* * *

><p>Hawke is splayed out on the bed, eyes closed, arms and hands still red with blood. Aveline grimaces. She can't imagine the sense of loss he must be feeling. It is one thing to lose Wesley to the Blight of the darkspawn. It is quite another to lose a mother to the madness of mankind, to a mage.<p>

She calls out his name several times. He doesn't open his eyes and Aveline wonders if he has fallen asleep. His fingers curl and uncurl. There are streaks of blood on the sheets. Those will have to be washed. No, replaced entirely. Blood is near impossible to remove. Yes. The sheets will be changed. She'll remember to do it before he is painfully reminded.

She leans forward, one knee lighting gingerly on the edge of the bed. She'd feel like a slattern at any other time but right now she's preoccupied with him. She touches her fingers lightly to his forehead and his earthy eyes open and focus on her. He takes an unsteady breath, shakes his head and closes his eyes again. "Get up," she tells him quietly. He ignores her. She takes his hands and pulls. He resists before allowing himself to be pulled up.

She takes him to the bathroom and to the sink, running the water before holding his hands underneath. There is a small hand towel to the side and she uses it to wipe the blood from his hands until the sink runs red.

She notices that he is barefoot; she's never seen him that way before. "Your uncle is on his way," she says. "If you'd like, I can speak to him." Hawke shakes his head. Aveline sets the towel aside and uses her hands, wrapping her fingers around his arm and fingers and wiping at his flesh, making sure that not a hint of blood remains. His hands are large, fingers long and graceful. She'd never noticed. He keeps his head bowed. She's seen men and women like this before, the same dazed look of someone who has lost a loved one. "I am so sorry, Hawke."

"Carver will be devastated."

He bows his head. Aveline takes his face in her hands but she says nothing. She says nothing when he wraps his arms around her and holds on to her for dear life. What can she say? What can she do?

* * *

><p>Hawke may be Champion of Kirkwall but even he doesn't have the energy to go to three parties a night for weeks on end before growing tired and bored He stays in. Life is mercifully quiet these days. The mansion is too quiet but hiring a full time group of musicians seems unreasonable, as much as it appeals to him.<p>

At home he spends his time reading or drinking. Occasionally he'll write in his journal, leaving doodles in the margins (as he does now). He's drawing a gangly Merrill, befuddled by a parrot in the corner when Aveline enters. He shuts the journal, wincing as he does so, aware that he's likely smudged ink everywhere. He hasn't seen Aveline in ages. Not that he's ceased to think of her, far from it. He bites his lip to still his confession of love then and there.

"I've been hearing stories of your debauchery in the Keep." Aveline says.

Hawke grins. "Who, me?" He can't imagine what stories she might have been hearing. Usually Varric talks about dragons he's slain and the women he's… well. "You know how Varric likes to talk."

"And I know how you like your debauchery."

He stands. "Who doesn't?" A narrowing of her eyebrows is enough answer for him. He smiles and walks closer. The two of them haven't seen much of one another since the Qunari uprising. They hadn't seen much of each other before the night of his mother's death. The thought depresses him. He hasn't known how to thank her and so he hasn't. "Shouldn't you be out guarding the city? Or am I in trouble again for some unknown reason? Whose life have I ruined by becoming Champion of Kirkwall?"

"I wouldn't boast about a title given by the Knight-Commander."

"I'm just happy the fox thought to give me a title for all my good work and not the end of her sword." He slides his hands into the pockets of his robe, taking note of how her eyebrows have narrowed further. "Between the two of us, I prefer the Captain of the Guard to the Knight-Commander."

"Do you?"

"You haven't tried to kill me yet. That's a start." He knows he's said the wrong thing when she looks irritated again. "I'm not complaining but…it isn't like you to pay house visits. Is something the matter? Have you need of my magic staff?" He laughs, then realizes how his words might be misinterpreted. He starts coughing and reaches for the goblet of wine situated on the corner of his desk. The lukewarm liquid soothes his throat and after gulping it down he stands straighter and faces her again. He apologizes in a thin voice.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Something caught in my throat," he says clearing it several times over. Aveline nods as if with understanding and retreats several steps. Hawke watches her. Her movements are brusque but direct and with purpose. Usually, anyway. Now she frets. "You seem uneasy."

"We need to talk," she accuses.

"What's happened now? Corrupt politician, demented mage, a certain pirate woman?" The last in particular causes Aveline to give him a deadly look. "What do we need to talk about?"

"Hawke, you know difficult these matters are for me. I won't dance around this any longer. Why did you kiss me?" before Hawke can respond she's going on again. "We've barely seen each other since it happened. Maker knows much has happened since then. We're both often busy taking care of matters and things have been difficult, Hawke. I know. But damned if I can figure out if there's no other reason that we haven't met."

"You've always been perfectly capable of not seeing me, kisses not withstanding."

"I need you to be serious right now."

"And brave this?" He laughs hollowly. His spirits have plummeted. There is no denying the issue any longer. He wonders if the moment holds any viable possibility or if this is the beginning of a life of solitude. Will he be capable of moving on?

"What was it? What did it mean to you?"

"Nothing. Everything. I did only what I have dreamed of doing for years. Have you any idea how intimidating you are?" He asks the question with an exasperated grin before it falters. He can't make out her sober expression. "Have you any idea how much I love you? How I have loved you?" Hawke sighs and returns to his seat, slumping. "Aveline…"

"Hawke…" she shakes her head, "you've always been family to me."

"A husband can be family."

"You? A husband?" she rears from the word and laughs. Hawke's heart clenches painfully. He glowers and looks away. What the void was he thinking? Did she come here to ridicule him? "Maker. You're serious." His jaw is so tightly clenched he fears it will never come open again. Aveline makes a move as if to step closer but stops herself. "How long have you… you've never said anything!" He is too angry to speak. He wants to shout at her for being daft. He's only ever said anything. She's been too oblivious to see it. "You can't just throw this at me."

"Throw it at you?" Hawke stands, trying not to find the issue of not shouting so challenging. "For years everyone has known my feelings for you. Am I such a contemptible fool to you that you would never think of loving someone like me?" She opens her mouth and seems to think better of it. "Do you know how long I've waited to hear one kind word from you? Half of Kirkwall worships me but to the void with them and this," he gestures around the mansion.  
>"You only serve to remind me of my ineptitude," he says bitterly.<p>

"But you know that I only tease you!" Aveline hesitates. "Don't you?" she takes a breath when he doesn't speak, his heart too tightly lodged in his throat. "This would have been so much easier if you'd told me it'd been a prank. I would have decked you," she admits, "but it would have been easier." She paces. Hawke is irritated at feeling fondly for her then. "What do I know about any of this? You saw my manner of wooing a man. Copper marigolds," she says contemptuously.

"Yes. Copper Andraste's Grace is truly the way to win a man's heart."

"Shut it." She does a few more back and forths before stopping abruptly before him, frustrated. "Why would a man like you want someone like me?"

"I need a babysitter," he says blithely, "and word from your own lips is that you don't look bad naked." Her eyes settle on him venomously. Then her cheeks redden. "Not that I've had the opportunity to confirm that." She's raising an armored hand, no doubt to slap him. Hawke appreciates her femininity in the moment. His hand circles gently around her wrist. "You are good, Aveline. And strong. And just." Her eyes soften. "And beautiful." His fingers graze her face, the touch feather light, " so very beautiful." She stares at him, wordlessly. Her cheeks remain flushed red and Hawke is unsure whether she's taken to his words or if she's grown angrier. "Nothing to say, Guard-Captain?"

She flares her nostrils before ducking her chin. Hawke is confused as to what's happening before he realizes that she's acting like some coy virgin. How adorable! He thinks of telling her his delighted thoughts, near dizzy from how the situation has gone from horrible and unfathomable to happy and glorious. "Just shut up and kiss me." She looks at him irritably. "You really are an abomination. To think that—"

A kiss stills her words. She tenses briefly, her lips as hard and unrelenting as the steel of her armor. Then she softens, taking a nervous breath, parting her lips. A gloved hand touches his face, his hair and slides to the back of his neck drawing him closer. They kiss hungrily, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her to him. His heart soars, pounding frantically as they kiss more deeply and she sighs softly, so unlike any sound he's ever heard her make. Then she pulls away. "I need to think about this," she says breathlessly, "I need to think about this, Hawke."

"Can't you think about it later?" he receives another withering look from her and bites his tongue. She'd taken months to summon the courage to speak to him after a one-sided kiss. How long would it take her to come to a decision after this? Years? He'd prefer for them to be together while they still have some mobility. Hawke runs a hand through his hair. He smiles as bravely as he can. "I've already waited eight years. What's another eight, or ten, or twenty? Mind you there's no guarantees I'll still live then. The Knight-Commander is awfully persistent and I'm only one apostate." She looks at him uncertainly as if unsure whether she's being mocked. "I know you're not one to take things lightly, Aveline. Maybe I'll hate myself for this but… it would be best for you to be sure. I don't think I could bear it if you did something you regretted or…" he doesn't know what else he ought to say and worries he may have said too much. "I only want for you to be happy."

Aveline says nothing. For a time she stares into the fireplace. Hawke watches her, glad for the moment they shared minutes ago, reminding himself to be grateful, urging himself to remember how fragile, disciplined and proud she can be. He takes a seat at his desk once more and opens his journal. His hand shakes nervously. What a fool he becomes around her. How Varric and Carver would laugh! Whatever notion he had of writing, he abandons. Maybe Aveline will leave without another word. They can meet again and if she decides that she wants nothing to do with him in that way—then they can focus on their friendship and he can force himself, somehow to forget her. Despite his inability to do so throughout the years.

He doesn't know how long he's been staring at the blank journal paper when a soft thud catches his attention. He turns to see her gloves on the floor. He looks from them to her. Once he's caught her gaze he's pinned. She comes closer. Hawke wonders if she knows how she wrings her hands. "I'm scared, Hawke."

What must it have taken for her to admit such a thing? He doesn't tell her the thought of a committed relationship makes him want to piss himself. He's never cared for them. He's never entertained those thoughts outside of her. He would never want to let her down. Hawke touches her hand tentatively. "I'm bloody terrified," he tells her. Her fingers wrap around his. Hawke has never noticed how soft and feminine her hands are despite their scars and calluses.

Aveline pulls Hawke to his feet. It's so like her to never let him sit around feeling sorry for himself. It's always been Aveline to save him time and time again. She kisses him. Her armor comes away much like the barriers he hadn't known he'd erected around his heart and thoughts. Hawke knows that he will give everything for her. She is worth everything.


End file.
